


forgot my name again

by ManyWords



Series: BEEFY FIVE LAYER AU (FAE WILD) [1]
Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Alternate Universes, Alternate incarnations, BEEFY FUCKING FIVE LAYER AU, BOI THERES LIKE FIVE SEPERATE ONGOING WORKS FOR THIS ONE AU OF AN AU, Beefy Five Layer AU, Beefy Three Layer AU, Canon-Typical Violence, Deals, Fae don't care about gender, Faerie rings, Gay, HATENO HORNED STATUE, Insanity, LISTEN WE'RE FIVE AUS DEEP AND I REGRET NOTHING, Magic, Names, Redemption Arcs, Reincarnation, SO GAY, Spectral Observation, TACO BELLS NEW SPECIAL, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, Wild has no concept of gender, all the violence, alright, dealing with the devil, for multiple characters, i didnt mean for it to go this far, lets do this one more time, names have power, not at the LU part yet give me some time to get there, oblivious characters, oh boy, or clothes, or sleep, selling your soul, yea babeys gonna get hurt, yeet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:41:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21624724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ManyWords/pseuds/ManyWords
Summary: (very old, getting rewritten)
Series: BEEFY FIVE LAYER AU (FAE WILD) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1558561
Comments: 38
Kudos: 158





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Getting rewritten. Very old and bad/hard to follow.

He wakes up with nothing but a name. 

There's a trueness, in this name, and it feels right to him, feels as if it's his, and he knows he must guard it with his life, should something worse than death come for him (Death was your escape, boy, you wasted your chance and now you’re trapped here forever, this is  **your** fault-). 

He shudders from chills that wrack his body. ( _ Fragile. Mortals are so fragile, wouldn't you agree, L̶̫͈̍͑͐͒ͅȉ̷̢̗̘͍̳͑̌̆̈́̎̄͊͜m̴̘͉̤̓̈́͘͝ņ̴̡̙̭̳̘̫͕͉̝̾̍͊͋̒͛̈́͝ű̷͓̲̬̍̓̾̅s̴̻͗̇̈̈́̓͋͝?) _

A voice speaks to him. Tells him a name  _ (it's not true, fake, a mere nickname in the grand scheme of things-) _ but he can feel the power of it radiating in her naïve voice, feels the strings attached to his SOUL from the spoken word. 

He decides immediately that he must not use it. Names have power, after all, and he had grown too attached to this one. 

( _ Link- _ the voice whispers, cruelly, and he pulls at his hair in some vain attempt to get it out.)

He will tell others to call him by a nickname, for now. James, or Sam, or Max, or something equally unimportant.

As long as it held no power.

The voice urges him to step out, to grab a slate, and he is compelled to out of fear for the power she could hold, if she just wanted to. 

He still hesitates to grab stone tablet, even though she could make him if she wanted to. (Is this a gift? He remembers vaguely, never accept gifts, there's always strings attached and you can't afford to owe a debt-)

She urges him again, and he takes it out of fear.  _ It was never yours you don't own it I do- _

A door opens, and he feels such intense relief at the prospect. (Open doors, good for him, bad for the little tiny mortals sleeping peacefully  _ won’t you come play children _ ?)

Don't leave the window open, lest they sneak in.

He shivers again, and remembers not to show weakness. 

He must be confident, he must act as it he belongs. 

He bypasses the chests on the floor completely, avoiding them through instinct. (Don't touch the gifts they're always traps-). 

His name is L̶̫͈̍͑͐͒ͅȉ̷̢̗̘͍̳͑̌̆̈́̎̄͊͜m̴̘͉̤̓̈́͘͝ņ̴̡̙̭̳̘̫͕͉̝̾̍͊͋̒͛̈́͝ű̷͓̲̬̍̓̾̅s̴̻͗̇̈̈́̓͋͝,and he owns a Sheikah Slate.

A door opens, and he sees wondrous, glorious, freeing light. ( **The surface is safer, little one, go play there.)**

There is grass beneath his feet, and he can feel the wind and earth call out to him, singing at him to play. 

He laughs and joins them in their song. 

He is afraid and he is new and he doesn't remember but he knows the Wind and the Earth can be trusted. They will not trick him, he befriended the forest long ago.

**_W̶̨̨̤̼̟̻͍̙̖̑e̴̠͕̺̟̊͆̊̾̏͑̕͝l̸̹̙̳̮̰̉̉̓͗͊͘͠c̵̡̯̱͙͈̣͙͍̏̃͗̈́̌̕͠͝ö̶̼͉́̓͂͜͝m̵̛̰͒͗́̆͘ė̷̫̖̀̇̽̍͠ ̸̟̳̥̳̳͚̭̥̤̋̄̈͊̔̍̅͝ͅb̷̨̢̨̤͓̼̯̠̊͂̓͆͂͘͝a̴̯̹̝̲̻̘̤̘̳̽̿̄̚͜c̵̱̲̹͆͒͊̄̾̕͠k̷̡̫̗̫͌͂͗͑̐͛́̋,̵̨͎̦̠̮̱̹̫̞̑́̒̚ ̸͍̫̣̯̗̭̂̽̂̊̈́̐̈́̚W̶͚̼̹̩̪͚̕i̴͍͉̖͗̿̔̓̆̎̌̅̅̚ͅl̵̡̢̢̪̜̦̰͇̋̏̌̿̆̓̾̈́͝ͅd̸̯̦͍̥̜͌̋̑̉̆͑͠-̵̣́̐̇̈͗͘̚C̶̡͖̼̰̞̪̲͐̀͋̄̾͑͋͊͜͝ḫ̶͈̰̗̖̽͊̍͂̒̿͋̎̀̍į̶̖͇͇̙͝l̵͍̣̜͂̒̚d̶̥̬̪̮̞̭͛͗̂͆͘_ **


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yeet

This realm is beautiful. 

It feels open and empty and devoid of life and he loves it. 

The realm glitches into a hellscape covered in swirling tones of malice and destruction and reflections only every so often. 

There is a spirit, here, though (He can tell that they're a spirit, they're trying to hide it so he politely doesn't mention it). 

When he makes no move to approach the spirit, they beckon him closer and he cannot remember how to refuse an invitation. 

He feels safer once the spirit has invited him into a cave (With a hearth, that means it's a home, that means he's a guest and he's safe). 

The spirit offers him a baked apple. 

He smiles and says that he isn't hungry and that he appreciates the offer. 

He is a guest, he is safe now, so he humors the spirit and makes small talk. (The spirit does the talking, as he can't remember what's polite and what isn't, and his throat doesn't work- A punishment for something he's done, surely.) 

He will not eat the baked apple, no matter how hungry he is. (Isn't he always hungry, though? Certainly one bite couldn't hurt, not with such a kind spirit-)

The wind whistles through the trees outside, and he trembles at the motions that he had almost taken. He is not allowed to eat.

The wind is his friend, the Earth is his friend, the Stars are his friend, _ trust no one else. _

An insistent voice whispers at the back of his mind, and she has power over him, so he excuses himself as politely as he can and regretfully gives up any safety he had as a guest. 

Before he leaves, the spirit asks his name, and he hides his shudders. 

"You can call me L, sir." He signs, his hands knowing the motions to go through. A letter will do. A letter holds barely any power. 

The spirit tilts his head and thanks him. 

L, as he had dubbed himself for now, continued on the path, desperately wanting to start towards the trees on the side. (The trees are safe, they'll protect you, they're your friend-). 

But he can feel the spirit watching him, and you're never supposed to stray from the path, so he continues on. 

He doesn't dare look back for fear of what he'll find.

There is a sword, and it's stuck in a stone in the middle of a pond, and it's rusted and-

_ He watches as the mortal forges the sacred blade and hears her soul come into existence. No one is there to give her a name so he dubs her Fi- _

_ He's watching as his four mortals seal the sword-that-isnt-his away and merge into one- _

_ He watches the Hero of Time as he- _

_ H̵̓̑ȇ̸̇ ̸̏̽k̸̓͗n̶̓ơ̵̂w̴̍̚s̵̽̈ ̷̛̩t̸̛̿ō̸̕ ̵͉̂m̴̎͝ǘ̷̕c̶̀͘h _

Quickly as they came, the scenes fade and he is left with nothing but a ruined temple in his view. 

The scenes slip out of his mind, and he doesn't try to grasp onto them any further. 

**_Sometimes it's better to forget, hero._ **

He passes the temple of time as the slate guides him. (He doesn't quite trust the fact that it's not sentient, because something tells him everything is sentient, but he owns the slate so all will be well.)

The temple is foreboding and beautiful and ruined and it doesn't have a reflection when he looks at the pond next to it. 

He avoids the temple. 

_ The Hero of Time reaches, reaches out to reclaim the sword but he's too slow- _

L shudders and moves on.

The slate continues to guide him with it's beeping, and L grips his hair and tries to forget. 

The place is cursed, almost, he can feel it in the way the rocks don't whisper and how the smooth floor feels artificial beneath his feet. The wind falls silent here, and there are no trees. 

A stench of wires and metal fills the air, and he wishes desperately that he knew what was going on.

The tower rises and he gags in disgust when more of him bare skin touches the artificial floor.

His connection to the Earth is ripped away by the rising of the tower. He scrambles to his feet to stand on the rocks, and calls out to the wind. 

_ I'm here _ they whisper. 

It's all the reassurance he needs. Children get stolen when left alone, after all.

L stands and does as the wind instructs. 

The tower is activated by accident when the slate is missing from his side, and the voice calls out to him . 

_ Try... Try to remember. _

_ “I don't want to remember! _ ” he wants to scream.  _ “It’s better to forget!” _

_ You have been asleep for the past one-hundred years- _

His breathing increases (Did he need to breathe? He shouldn't have to. He shouldn't be here, this is wrong) and he collapses onto the floor ( _ dirty, unnatural, impure _ ). He claws at his head, tugging and tearing at his hair. Tears leak from his eyes, and be panics when they fall to the ground  _ (leave nothing behind- _ ). 

**_Thisiswrongthisiswrongletmeout!_ **

He doesn't know how long he stays there. It's long enough for the stars to join the wind in helping him slowly to his feet. 

"Water." His hands move. "Water will cleanse me."

And that is that.

He does not care when he slips down the tower, because nothing is more important than being cleansed. The wind catches him, like it always does. (He never understood why the wind or earth or trees or stars never wanted anything in return- it is unnatural but he will always be grateful nonetheless.)

Running water. Running water will cleanse him of the dirty impure taint on him.

He ignores the spirit that tries to talk to him when he hits the welcoming earth, and he runs until his feet touch snow, the wind urging him forward the entire time.

He sees bubbles float up in the water, and the cold shocks him, but he is soaked and he is being cleansed.

_ The sea rages on and the mortal still pushes forward, forward, guiding the raft expertly until lighting strikes and his mortal is thrown under the waves- _

He surfaces, and the stars twinkle merrily at him. 

His teeth chatter as he pulls his way towards the shore, and his hands are blue with the cold. Upon the shore waits the spirit, and L pulls himself up. 

His skin is soaked and his hair clings to his face but he is cleansed and be won't have to touch the tower again.

The slate, sadly, is not harmed by the water, and the spirit guides L back towards the cave and once again invites him as a guest. 

"We... We have a lot to talk about, I suppose, but first you should warm up, lest you catch a cold. 

Wild is so very, very cold.




His name isn't Wild. At least, it isn't now. He isn't going by that- he doesn’t know where it comes from, can’t remember the laughing voices that had once spoken it. It holds too much- no, it wasn't power that it held. 

_ What's for dinner, Wild? _

He glues his eyes to the fire and nurses a cup of hot tea in his hands. He doesn't drink, of course, but the heat of the porcelain helps him feel solid. ( _ You're invisible, Wild-Child, you can't help them, don’t cause yourself more pain _ .)

The fire dances in his eyes, and he wants to join it in song.

But there is still the matter of the spirit, a ghost he doesn't trust. ( _ Trust no one, Wild-child, not even yourself-) _

He continues to stare at the fire throughout the spirits words.  _ Don't stare in their eyes for too long.  _

The words of this spirit do not concern him. 

Until, of course, a deal is brought up. 

L specializes in deals.

"You want to get off the plateau, right?"

Of course he does, it's so small here and everything feels fake and the impure substance is here and he doesn't want to be trapped-

L nods, and sets the cup of cold tea down. 

"You will need a paraglider."

L nods again, and stretches his bare foot towards the fire. 

"I'll make you a deal."

He smiles, and kicks one of the flaming logs, sending a shower of sparks towards himself. **_Deal with the devil, sell your soul, where you will go, nobody knows~_ **

_ You want to play a game, old man? _ Some part of him laughs. 

_ Let's play. _


	3. Chapter 3

It's witching hour, now. 

He should be scared, but the stars sing to him, and it feels natural for him to be outside.  _ Don't go outside at night, Wild-child, they'll catch up eventually~ _

The night crawls with things that whisper,  _ unsavory _ things and  _ fun _ things and things he can trick into his ring- that don't dare to break the silence. It feels invigorating,  _ and new and exciting.  _

When the sun had shown, he knew nothing. Now he still knows nothing, but the night air is calming and everything is on the verge of silence and blaring loudness, the in-between he loves, the perfect mix.

_ He watches as the Hero of Twilight stares at the fading sunset, and he slips between realms as the hero cries over mirror shards- _

Even the flashes of something-that-feels-like-his can't ruin the night. 

There is no moon, and the stars shine all the brighter for it.

He dances with bare feet in the grass, and the starlight joins him, whispering their usual bits of madness, beautiful insane madness, one day he'll join them in the sky-. He doesn't grow weary and the monsters of the night don't bother him. 

_ This is his _ , he knows,  _ and it would be ever so impolite for any being to interrupt. _

If his teeth are a little too sharp when he smiles there is no one to see it. 

Time seems meaningless, here, but eventually Dawn breaks and reality- some form of horrible, twisted reality that he can't bend to his will- crashes down on him, and he is filled with nausea, retching on the ground to try and rid himself of the new feeling plaguing him.

Day breaks, and he is left vulnerable and powerless and oh-so-scared. 

**_So you're of the night? Hmmm. Be careful not to be out at dawn, little one, lest you be caught trespassing._ **

_ So I'm of the night _ , he thinks.  _ That's fine _ . 

He has a deal to finish, after all, and what would he be if he didn't make quick work of deals?

He continues on his way. (Keep moving, never turn back, there's no chance for escape-)

To a shrine that the knows will a feel of impurity and metal, to a shrine with no patron and no one to guard it.  _ There's a crumbling archway lost beneath the seas, once he was worshipped as a god- _

This... Structure... Is made of metal and stone and glowing light, and he recoils before he steps foot onto it. 

Iron.

_ No. Nononononono! Don't make me, let me go, please I'll do anything- _

He cannot touch it. He will not touch it. 

Shoes, he decides. Shoes and clothes to protect his skin. 

If it were night, he would have willed them into existence. ( **_We've finally caught you, hero,, now you're out of the star's view, what are you going to do?)_ **

_ Always running from the sunrise, aren't you, hero? _

But the light of the sun blinds him, and so instead he sits in the grass and begins to create. He was always better at destruction, but he supposes he could create as well. 

Grass is woven together and tied with thin vines in way for shoes, and fallen trees provide massive leaves for him to string together. It's something of a makeshift, and if anyone else were to attempt, surely they would fail, but the Earth and Forest favor him.

He feels much better now, but he would prefer to go barefoot and feel the soil. 

Eyes are on the back of his head, so he moves forward anyways.

His thoughts blur together as he approaches, and everything in him begs for him to turn around, to go back and leave. ( _ He ignores it, because that is what you're supposed to do- don't trust yourself, remember? Senses are deceived easily _ .)

The slate-that-isn’t-his chimes as he gets closer, and falls silent. (Nothing's ever truly silent, there's always ghosts and whispers and insanity-filled words.) 

"I appreciate your generosity." He whispers to the Earth before he steps onto the platform, shaking hands smoothing down the grass.

He steps onto the platform, and the iron burns through his woven shoes, but he is safe.  _ (Neversafe, theyneverstoprunningandneithershouldyou-) _

The light flares up, and he is almost comforted by the blue before he reminds himself not to trust it. 

A voice speaks in his mind, and he wants it gone. It remains silent as he stumbles his way through the puzzles ( _ these aren't fun puzzles, no one's getting hurt- _ ) that aren't really puzzles. He feels it well within his right to curse the 'puzzles', as they weren't really puzzles at all. They were too simple to be fun, after all. 

Perhaps he is distracting himself with such thoughts. The longer he stays in the shrine, the bigger the sense of dread grows in him, and the more he can feel eyes on him. 

Something's watching don't let them know you know-

Nausea curls in his gut as he continues, and his thoughts are scrambled until there's nothing left but  _ getoutgetouti’mtrappedletmeout- _

Blue light fragments shatter towards him, and he is careful not to let them touch his skin. (Don't trust the light, it's blinding and fake and harsh and cruel-)

He does not want the spirit orb. It is forced upon him, and he is left shaking and gasping as the monk dissolves into dust. 

Time for a deal to be finished.


	4. Chapter 4

It is mid-day when his feet touch the ground again. 

He glares up at the sun. It's too bright, and he hates how it's rays shine harshly on his face. It feels as though it's burning him, though L cannot remember if that is a normal sensation or not. 

He would have much preferred it if it was night, where he could dance and sing and play, but he supposes that it will be night soon enough anyways, and soon he will have the world to explore.

He shades his eyes with his hand and looks around for shadows. The in-between period of dawn hadn't been bad, but the sun hurts his eyes now. 

_ ("Perhaps it is because you are of the night. Stay away from the light, young one. It will burn you.") _

He wonders if others adore the blue of the sky as much as he loves the stars.

He somehow doubts it. 

He does not go far before a voice calls out to him, the Old Man calling towards him from the sky. The Old Man lands in the dirt next to him. 

L decides not to question where he has come down from, because there are no high points near them. He would have asked if not for better judgement. After all, the man was a spirit. They tended to get touchy when called out for using magic casually. 

(How does he know this, again? Hmm. He wishes briefly that he had his memory, and scolds himself. 

_He probably had a reason to forget, after all._ )

It worked out for the better. L could complete their deal- swift, easy, and entirely un-messy. It was a rather boring deal, really. There was no trickery involved, and he didn't get to have any real fun with it. 

A shame. 

But there would be plenty other deals he could make. Perhaps some of them will turn it well for both parties. Perhaps not. 

He smiles at the Old Man, and offers the weapon found within the treasure chest to him.

The Old Man looks confused, for a second, but his eyes light up with recognition soon enough. "I see you've found the treasure."

"The paraglider, please?"

The words tumble out of his mouth easily, and he frowns, because earlier he hadn't been able to say anything at all. 

The next words spoken by the man are almost missed by L. 

He tilts his head slightly, and some sort of unholy fury fills him. 

**_"That wasn't the deal."_ **

His words sound eerily calm, and he holds out his hand expectantly, offering a final chance to the spirit. 

"Ah.. well... I've changed my mind."

That was the problem with mortals, wasn't it? Thought they could get away with breaking deals, under some false notion that they weren't bound like the fae-folk were. 

How utterly _naïve._

In the end he walks away with a smile on his face and a paraglider. Because who could break a deal and come out okay? 

Actually, he was rather merciful, all things considered. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that it was day, and he was extremely tired. Even so, the Old Man was lucky. 

By L's standards, anyways.

He joyfully walks to the edge of the platuea, fiddling with the contraption of cloth and wood that was now his. It seems simple enough to work- the slate stored it so that it was just a tug away from being fully deployed. 

He marvels at the prospect. It wasn't that the plateau was a bad place- it was fine really, just a bit... Confining. Something in him wants to explore, to travel and see everything he can. 

He skids to a stop where the plateau drops off. 

Because there was fog spreading out in all directions, curling and twisting. 

He cursed his luck, and turned back around. 

Maybe this was some form of trickery. Give him the tools for freedom, but make it so he couldn't have them. Cruel, and ironic. 

He clenches his fist. He was the one pulling the strings. Not some twisted attempt at trickery.

"No death could be more certain."

He should have remembered such an important detail. 

He makes his way back to the overhang, unsurprised to see the Old Man sitting there. 

Things were so easily undone in this world. He might have enjoyed it, once. 

Now he is just angry. 

_(A deal broken and he still was scammed. You're losing your touch, wildling._ )

The spirit doesn't remember anything, unsurprisingly.

L doesn't check to see if he still has the paraglider. He doesn't have to. 

So they didn't want him to leave. So they wouldn't let him. So they were going to make him do it their way. 

Fine. That's fine.

If this was a game, he would play by their rules. 

~~**_For now._ ** ~~


	5. New snippet and update

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back??  
> Felt bad for updating with only some info so this chapter had a small sneak peek/ snippet in it as well!

So although I haven't posted anything, I've been working on this A.U. for a good while now, and a lot of content hasn't been posted at all outside of discord DMS. I've made the decision to start over and rewrite the entire series, this time starting with an outline. 

The rewrite will introduce new characters, events, interactions, etc., and I'm planning for it to be pretty long as well.

This series is far from popular, but since there's so much stuff involving it that stays in discord or in my own head, if anyone who reads this would like more information for my plans, new characters in the series, or anything that's already happened, I have discord and I respond to comments.

Now, because this is feeling too formal for something that 5 people on the internet are gonna read, let me tell you THAT I AM FUCKNG HYPED

VIRGO HAS HELPED ME COME UP WITH SO MANY IDEAS AND I REALLY LOVE THIS SERIES 

LIKE FOR REAL

anyways

the rewrite will be posted as a seperate work under a new name on this account

Because I felt bad about updating with just info about how things are going with the series, here is a small (unedited and not very good) snip that may or may not be the beginning of the rewrite. Thanks for reading and for all the people who left kudos, comments, or bookmarked this! 

Link stumbled through the woods, shivering at the chill he carried. Just this morning it was unbearable in the shade, but with the cold surrounding him, standing in the sun did little to warm him nor did it help clear his head. He wanted to stay in one spot, as Papa had told him, but his head spins and his thoughts say to keep moving. He feels heavy, like he's carrying a pack even though there's nothing but him. He's tired, in contrast to his usual bubbly attitude, and he keeps tripping even though he watches the ground very carefully.  
It's harder to watch for rocks when his vision keeps spinning, though.   
He... Doesn't feel very good.   
He's only three years old, now, and Papa says he's smart for his age, but right now he feels much older than 3.   
He's very confused.   
The trees are a blur as he walks and his head spins and spins like a turning top. The bark on the trees doesn't bite his hands, though, and although he's cold, the wind feels nice on his face.   
Distantly he hears his name. Papa scolds him and Link doesn't tell him that he feels too heavy or that he feels older than three or that he has too many thoughts right now. He sits on Papa's shoulders until they get home, and he thinks about how his name sounded so weird.


End file.
